fear_the_squee

Ficlet: "Walking in Her Shoes"

2004-11-24T04:21:04Z

Title: Walking in Her Shoes
Rating: About 300 words
Character: Kate

She doesn't know anything about the other woman. Who she was, why she was going to Los Angeles. Kate doesn't know anything. The woman was young, younger than her. Not pretty, but nobody would be under the circumstances. A college student, maybe, going home. There was a group of them on a tour, Claire said. Maybe Claire read her name during the memorial service. Kate doesn't know.

All Kate really knows about the woman is that she wore hiking boots. Almost new ones. Had she bought them specially for the trip? Kate likes that idea. It's oddly comforting. She can imagine her, shopping for her trip with her friends. Going walkabout, she tells them. I need new boots.

Or maybe they were an impulse purchase in Sydney. Even something as mundane as hiking boots gain an exotic air when purchased in an exotic place, the Land Down Under tanned into the leather itself. Back home, she would've showed them off. "See these? I bought them in Sydney as a souvenir. I just couldn't resist. Who really needs a didgeridoo anyway?" Then she'd laugh. In Kate's mind, she's practical, but funny. Kate wonders what else made the woman laugh. She wonders who's missing that laugh back home.

There is one other thing Kate knows about the woman before her. She wore a size 7 shoe, same as Kate. For all she knows, it's the only thing they had in common. In the end, it's the only thing that matters.

But.

Every step she takes only reminds her of exactly where she is, exactly what's happened. She can't escape it, not even for a moment, because every step she takes, she takes in a dead woman's shoes.

(Crossposted to lost100)

Ficlet: "What Goes On"

2004-11-24T00:07:57Z

Title: What Goes On
Rating: G
Length: 100 words
Comments: For lost100's Beatles Song Title Challenge, 9 titles in all.

"Hello, little girl." Sawyer stepped from behind a tree, smirking.

Kate said, "Let it be, Sawyer. Just give up."

"Aw darlin', admit it: you like me too much. You know you wanna kiss me again."

She snorted. "That'll be the day."

He stepped closer to her, and she didn't move. "Honey, don't. You know it won't be long." His eyes lingered on her mouth before lifting to catch her expression. The dazed look there made him smile. He leaned in, intent on one thing.

"Wait," she said.

Not stop, but wait. He smiled.

Then she said, "You've got bad breath."

Random update

2004-11-19T13:32:08Z

Because I'm getting a little crazy with the drabbles (and because I don't want them to fall into the cracks), I set up memories as a sort of quasi-archive of everything I'm doing, even if I don't post it here--like challenge snippets, because they wouldn't make as much sense without the original context. There's not much there yet, but that'll change, if my brain has its way.

Yeah yeah, and eventually I'll get around to recs too. Really.

Ficlet: "Balance of Power", Sayid/Kate

2004-11-14T23:56:42Z

Title: Balance of Power
Rating: G
Length: About 250 words
Comments: As much as I like Sayid, he makes me a little uneasy sometimes, especially after "Confidence Man". This 250ish-word ficlet fits in with a familiar scene (familiar to Sayid/Kate shippers, for sure) from "The Moth". (Thanks to sinister_beauty for her comments!)

"Five o'clock," he reminds her. "Watch for my flare. Then it's your turn."

None of them understand. They're all clinging to their "civilized" notions of equality and democracy. Their survival is at stake; no room for such luxuries. There needs to be one strong voice, one person in power. He knows it should be him, but a power struggle can only do the group harm--the current division of the group between beach and cave only proves that.

Jack is too civilized. Sawyer, too savage. The rest are too weak. Then there's the woman standing before him. The men squabble over her like dogs over a bone, posturing and posing when she's around, baring their teeth at each other in warning smiles. He sees the way they fall over themselves to please her, to earn her smile.

She's not listening to him, distracted by the man climbing the tree.

"I don't trust him," he says.

She turns to him with her arrogant, half-amused eyes. "Who does?"

Then he realizes. To shift the balance of power, he doesn't have to defeat his opponents. He just has to win her.

He smiles gently, charmingly. "I don't trust him with you."

"I can handle him," she asserts. She can--and that's what he's counting on.

He lets his eyes linger on her just a moment before turning to leave, giving him time to see the spark of interest his words trigger.

Good. He walks away without turning back.

Crossposted to: lost100

Vid: Lost, "Hallelujah"

2004-11-09T00:24:07Z

Song Title: "Hallelujah"
Artist: Rufus Wainwright
Category: Character/Narrative
Characters: Charlie
Summary: I wanted to use this song for Charlie's addiction last week, but had to wait until "The Moth" aired, and am I glad I did! :) This kind of turned into the story of Charlie's rise, downfall, and the beginnings of his redemption.

"Hallelujah"--Rufus Wainwright

Crossposted to: lost_vids

Vid: Lost, "Harder to Breathe"

2004-11-09T00:21:50Z

Song Title: "Harder to Breathe"
Artist: Maroon 5
Category: Sort of unrequited romance, plus just general narrative.
Characters: Way more Sawyer than I'd planned. Also a fair bit of Charlie and Kate. The others are mostly background.
Summary: Fear and unrequited love amongst the ruins. Also my first attempt at this.

"Harder to Breathe"--Maroon 5

Crossposted to: lost_vids

Fic: "The Fix", Charlie/Claire

2004-11-09T00:12:53Z

Title: "The Fix"
Rating: PG-13 for language
Length: about 1100 words
Comments: I've always had a weird fascination with heroin addiction--not in a 'hey, what a cool thing to try!' sort of way, but from the standpoint of playing with it for dramatic purposes. So in that respect, "Lost" has totally had my number. I don't know what triggered this one, except that I heard bits of Charlie and Claire's conversation in my head and had to write it down. I also wanted to play with some of the speculation that the island has a tendency to give people want they ask for (Locke being the prime example).

The music just wasn't working. Charlie rubbed his eyes and tried to focus on the frets of his guitar. His fingers wouldn't find the bloody chord. Jack lied. The shakes weren't getting any better. Everything hurt, down deep in his bones. And never mind that the sodding island was tropical; he couldn't get warm enough. The chill went too deep. Sitting in the sun made the sweats worse, so he stuck to the shadows at the edge of the jungle. Deep breath. Count to ten. Start playing again.

His fingers hit the strings with a jagged twang, hard enough to make them rebound against the wood. "Christ," he said, and pulled his hand away. The last thing he needed was a broken string. What would he replace it with?

He rested his forearm against the top of the guitar and lowered his head. Jack had a prescription stash somewhere. The thought came in an insidious little voice. Sodding Sawyer probably even had a stash of something a little more illicit, the pig. The longing hit hard. The voice screamed, just once, an imperative deep in his nerve endings. Get up, find something--anything--to quiet his body and mind even for just five minutes.

Disgusted, he put aside the guitar and buried his face in his hands. The voice went back to whispering, cajoling. What was he going to do, burn everything on the island that might tempt him, right on down to the bloody aspirin? He was sick; he needed medicine. It might be easy. The camp at the caves was usually empty this time of day. "No," he spoke through clenched teeth. "I'm staying right here."

Ten minutes later he was in the cave, rooting through the suitcase with the broken zipper and cursing himself for being weak.

"Come on, come on, come on." He was hardly aware that he was speaking, shaking hands knocking the slim collection of medical supplies this way and that. Bandages, a half-empty bottle of peroxide, a tube of Neosporin scattered, leaving the bottom of the suitcase bare. No pill bottles. Nothing. Fucking Jack, fucking Saint Jack, had moved them. Hidden them. Can't trust old Charlie, oh no, better move the drugs. Once a junkie always a junkie, after all.

"Ah, god." How many years had it been since he prayed? How long since he'd heard the voice of anything but need inside of him? Give me one thing, he thought, just one thing to make this feeling go away.

"Charlie? Are you okay?" Australian accent. Oh hell, Claire. "What are you doing in here?"

"Claire, hi." Normal face, put on your normal face. "Oh, nothing, just poking around... Hey, what are you doing up? Didn't Jack put you on, what's it, bedrest?" Fucking Saint Jack. "Not that there's a bed around here anywhere, but..." He laughed weakly.

"I couldn't take lying around anymore," she said, subject changed. "I feel like I've been such a burden to everybody... plus," she added with a smile just this side of mischievous, "I was bored." She lowered herself heavily to the ground.

"Join the club," Charlie said. "I think all of the good jobs are taken. We've got the doctor, the hunter, the radio guy... not much left for the rest of us, huh?" He reached up to scratch his forearm and stopped when he saw how badly his hand was shaking. Had she seen it? He knew what came next. He'd look up and see her looking at him with a mixture of pity and disgust. Or pity and contempt. He'd seen it before. Look up and get it over with, Charlie. Add one more person to the list of people who know you're worthless. He forced his hand to be still. And looked up.

The look wasn't there. Claire was looking at him with the same sweet smile she had for everybody. "I'm just grateful we've got a doctor," she said, for all the world as if she hadn't noticed.

"Oh. Yeah, with the baby and all." He shifted around on the rock floor, trying to find a more comfortable position, trying to ease the ache from his muscles.

She nodded. "The baby."

"Are you scared?"

She paused before answering, long enough to make him think he'd stepped in it. When she answered, her voice was quiet. "A little. I mean, I've never done this before, you know?"

"Childbirth is scary," Charlie agreed. The quaking in his hands seemed to still somewhat. "But I'm sure Jack--"

"I didn't mean childbirth. I'm sure Jack will do fine. I'd planned to have it naturally anyway." She rested a hand against her swollen belly, looking down at it with an adoration Charlie had never seen on anyone's face before. "I meant raising a child. Alone like this."

"Hey, you're not alone here, Claire. There's lots of people around to help. You know, it takes a village and all that, right?" It sounded lame in his ears.

"Yeah." She didn't sound convinced.

"Is he--the baby's father, I mean--is he..." Charlie stopped. What was he going to ask? Is he dead? Was he on the plane? Is he out of the picture?

"Long gone." Her sunny smile returned, but it didn't touch her eyes completely. "Wasn't keen on being a dad, that one wasn't." She started gathering up the fallen medical supplies and putting them back in the suitcase.

"That's horrible."

She shrugged. "After he left, I thought for a little while about... well, about having an abortion, but I just couldn't." The look she gave him was sheepish, almost defensive. "I couldn't. I'm Catholic, and it just seemed... wrong."

"Funny that." Charlie said, "I used to be Catholic."

Claire smiled wryly, "No one ever stops being Catholic."

"You'd be surprised," he answered. There were things for which there could be no absolution. "Sometimes you can't go back."

"Nonsense." She reached out and patted his hand. His hands were clammy and he almost pulled away, but the sincerity in her eyes stopped him. "There's always a way home, Charlie. Always."

They sat like that for several moments before he broke the silence. "Claire, I--"

"What's going on? Claire, what are you doing up?" Jack's shadow filled the cave entrance. "Charlie, are you okay? What are you doing in here?"

Charlie opened his mouth to give some sort of excuse, but Claire cut him off. "He was helping me," she said. "You don't have anything for indigestion, do you, doctor? The baby apparently isn't fond of all this pork." She laughed, catching Charlie's eye.

"Yeah, I think so, but then you need to go lie down again, okay?" Jack came over and started looking through the suitcase. Charlie kept looking at Claire. It wasn't pity he saw there, but understanding. She smiled at him; he smiled back.

And for a few moments, everything within him was still.

First post

2004-11-08T00:27:00Z

Well, I've finally broken down and created this LJ as a supplement to my RL LJ, roane. I don't know how long this obsession with fandom will last, but as long as it does, I'll be posting vids, fic, and whatever other fannish projects cross my mind.